Buried

I am in disbelief that we buried our second baby this year. What an emotional experience to have to repeat. It was different with Tesslee, though. In the cemetery where the dead are gathered together, I know whats left of her body is safe, and in a respected, reverent place. It was heart wrenching and horrible to determine, with Mike, a resting place for another one of our children. Another one who we created, but never got the chance to know. This was a piece of both of us we were burying, one we thought would bring us so much healing and happiness.

The ground was cold and snow-covered. We decided on a spot that would be beautiful in the coming months. Mike pushed the shovel into the ground. Each time he brought up earth I felt my heart growing heavier. I hate the conversation we had of determining if the hole was deep enough. Parents should never have to have that conversation. It was cold. I was shaky. We said our little goodbyes, and Mike laid the tiny box in the hole. He solemnly covered our baby and our hopes and dreams with earth. We both shed sacred, quiet tears. He filled in the hole, packed the dirt down, and held me. I noticed an orange sunset in the distance. In that moment, I couldn't help but feel we were experiencing (in a very small way) some of the same emotions the pioneers surely felt, as they buried their babies on the prairie. I know they experienced much worse, but I felt a connection. Burying your child yourself in an unmarked grave, hoping it will be deep enough to withstand anything that might dig it up is something no parent should ever experience.

I will leave this post at that since I am realizing there are no words that touch how I feel inside. As we held each other and walked away, Mike said to me, "Just understand if I never bring this up again. It's only because its too painful." I am fine with that. I hope we are never called to repeat this experience again.